When Worlds Collide
by War Trash
Summary: Rated M for violence and language.


Aboard a USMC Pave Hawk helicopter that was flying over the waters of Sierra Leone, was a small band of soldiers. Kevin Fowler, the leader of the small mismatched squad was a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant, a lanky man with thin glasses, looking like as if he was going to shatter if he fell. Behind his lanky, underweight form, lay the determination of a marine. He had an M4 carbine between his legs, with a small 3x UNERTL scope. Lance Corporal Jose Garcia was a Latino from the slums of Los Angeles, heavily built and always smiling. Fowler, the leading soldier of the platoon wondered how the guy could be so optimistic, even when shooting people with his massive M249 SAW. The third marine aboard, Private Leonard Thompson, the team gunner, was another average marine in the corps, a light smoker and not much outstanding facial detail excluding a scar from his fourth tour in Iraq and a battered M16 with a grenade launcher.The two Rangers he was also in charge of were Private Victor Mitchell, a barrel-chested recruit with light stubble and a toothpick in his mouth all the time. The rim of his helmet was lowered over his eyes, making him look sinister and cunning – exactly what his weapon suggested- an HK MP5. The second Ranger, Private Martin Rosenberg was another skinny man with coke-bottle glasses and an M240 SAW with links of munitions draped over him. They both chatted amongst each other, talking about home, and the mission ahead.

The higher-ups of the small force weren't allowed to reveal their names, so they went by fake ones the Pentagon issued them. The U.S Navy SEAL insisted he was 'Ricky'-he wore black sunglasses and a boonie hat, face painted in a dusty beige colour. His M60E4's bullets glinted in the sun, as he sat near the door, admiring the view. The four Delta Force soldiers, Fowler was unsure of. He just knew that they were there for translating detainees and some of the heavier duty work that the small patrol required in the volatile country's coastline. Ricky seemed to admire the azure waters off the coast of Sierra Leone. He muttered "Ain't seen water this clean after Cuba." The helicopter tilted to one side, following the Little Bird helicopter full of Delta Force troopers.

Fowler pointed to a motorboat in the water. He shouted to the pilot "Bring us lower! We have a suspect in the no-swim zone!" The Blackhawk veered to the left and intercepted the unidentified vessel. Fowler looked closer. A sailor with something long and tubular in his hands walked out of the bridge, and raised it, towards the helicopter. The Marine sergeant's heart started to beat rapidly, his eyes identifying the weapon the sailor below held. "WE GOT AN RPG ON US! EVADE!" the pilot slammed his stick to the right. An RPG shell hit the chopper, rocking the aircraft. Fowler shouted in surprise, and fell out, he grasped on one of the metal footholds as he shouted profanities. His hands started to give way as his Marine gear weighed him down. He looked at his feet, and the ocean, seventy-five meters below. He shouted over the din of the rotors "Somebody fucking pull me up!"

Garcia grasped his free hand and hoisted him up as both men gritted their teeth, trying not to plunge into the waters below. Fowler finally collapsed on the cold steel floor of the failing helicopter. Warning alarms sounded, as the pilot frantically tried to regain control of the metal beast. The UH-60 dipped forward at a dangerous rate, its rotors clipping the back wing of the little bird in front of them. The little bird in the front shook severely and both helicopters dropped towards a coastal city. The collision shook the UH-60 again, a few men shouting in surprise. A frantic transmission came from the little bird. "Goose one, what the hell was that?" The pilot hollered "This is goose one, Sparrow one, we have been hit and are losing control of the craft!" another transmission came. "Goose one, prepare for emergency landing on the main street below." The two helicopters sunk towards the ground, the little bird landing shakily on the street. However, the Blackhawk spiraled down onto the streets below, belching smoke and raining sparks. The groaning and twisting of metal sounded as the tail threatened to snap off at any moment. The soldiers inside clutched onto whatever they could hold, and looked at the ground that came closer… and closer…

Ratchet kicked back, his polished, old commando boots shining with all their glory from the starlight. He sighed, and made sure that Clank's recharging cords didn't come loose. The small robot was evidently busy at work, running the navigation systems on the Marcadian Ambassador's shuttle. Ratchet looked back, and saw Sasha busy typing her report for the metropolis Archives and Angela eagerly running checks on her scientific equipment for collecting enviroment samples and statistics. She was running final checks, and she shouted, "Ratchet, it's time you brought us a little lower. It's already Three-thirty." Ratchet said "Just wait for a sec. It's not the time yet. If we come close to the earth right over here, the sheild's won't stand up to the atmosphere." Ratchet lowered the altitude of the craft, slowing down to subsonic speeds. Clank adjusted the craft at the right angle, making sure that there was not a single margin of mistake-which was usually deadly during re-entry in planets with this thick of an atmosphere. They broke through the atmosphere, and through the white clouds. The craft flew over the blue waters and the lands lush with vegetation and mountain ranges. Sasha said "My god. It's beautiful." Clank's robotic voice intruded, saying, "Yes, it is. More than one half of the surface is water. But I'm sorry to say; it's also one of the most war-torn and polluted countries in this galaxy."

Ratchet mumbled, "Hope the locals don't shoot us down." They flew into a small pocket of turbulence, and Ratchet slapped at the warning light. He grumbled, "This piece of bullshit never worked and it never will." Sasha frowned. Ratchet covered his mouth. "Sorry." The cockpit lights turned red, and the vessel shook madly. The windshield rattled and the displays showed critical damage to the engines, and falling plasma pressure. Angela shouted from the back "What did you do now?" Ratchet looked in the panels. " I didn't touch anything!" The engines on the craft finally stopped and the ship was falling towards the ground, more exactly into the streets of the city below. Ratchet banged at the panels, and giving up, he grasped the joystick and shouted over the din of the engines "Hold on Sasha, I think we're gonna have a rougher landing than usual!" Angela shouted from the back "Hey!" Ratchet shouted again. "Oh, and you too Angela!" The craft landed, the steel fuselage bouncing up once and landing once agian. The windsheilds cracked, and the force of the landing jerked Clank out of his recharging cords. Sasha's research papers flew in every direction with Angela's gear. Ratchet sighed as the craft stopped. Frustration welled up inside him and he smashed the dashboard, wailing "Damn it! Why me?" He sighed, and said "Sasha, get the weapons ready, and Angela, check on the supplies. If I don't come back in ten minutes, you know something's happened. I'll go look ahead and call for help, okay? Try to contact the president too." Sasha nodded, trusting him with her bright blue eyes. She swiped her ID card on the padlock of the weapons locker, and Angela ripped open every shelf and cabinet, throwing everything out. Ratchet grabbed his metallic companion by his arm, grabbed his wrench and leapt out, walking towards the columns of dark somke ahead of him.

The soldiers inside regained their consciousness, one by one with moans. Fowler shouted "Everybody okay?" Mumbles came from them. Fowler noticed the lack of the pilot's voice. "Where's the goddamn rotorhead?" Garcia shrugged. Fowler whispered, "Fuck." He opened the emergency hatch on the pave hawk, and clambered outside. Bright sunlight and intense heat attacked his eyes. He slipped on his goggles, and jumped, landing on two feet onto the dusty ground of Sierra Leone. Front of him, was the little bird, in a wreck and with four Delta boys staring at the wreck with arms folded. They were bickering about who was responsible for the radios. They turned, hearing jet engines in the distance. Fowler also saw an aircraft heading their direction. Thompson, the next marine out of the wreck waved, throwing up his helmet and firing his rifle into the air, dancing in circles. "The government's got a plane for us! We're going home!" The plane seemed to come down lower and lower, coming closer. Garcia was doubtful. "It's coming too close to the ground… Shit, it's headed straight for us!" The Rangers stood a few steps back as they saw the unidentified aircraft smash into the dirt road and skid towards the crash site. Ricky shouted, "It's coming for us! RUN!" The soldiers scurried for refuge as the wreck started to slow. It stopped a few meters behind the wrecked UH-60, swallowing up the area in a fine cloud of dust. The soldiers coughed, stumbling for their goggles and cloth to put over their mouths. Dirt settled and some of the soldiers inspected the crashed aircraft. Ricky muttered "Strange. Never seen this one before, and it doesn't have any insignia." The wreck smoldered and a few soldiers recoiled after the cockpit glass popped open. They watched in awe, as something popped out. They cocked their weapons, and waited.

Ratchet waved the dust away from his face. The arid air and the sulight attacked him. He wrinkled his nose, and looked around. The dust cleared, and a half-circle of soldiers were surrouning him, pointing their rifles to his head. A lanky one with three chevrons on his arm said "Please, drop your weapon and put your hands over your head." Ratchet followed, and lay down on the ground. Mutters came from the crowd. "What is he?" "Some kind of extraterrestrial?" "Probably something to do with area 51." "Does he speak english?" Ratchet perked up his ears and said 'Yeah, I speak english." The sargeant came closer to him, and pulled him up, a heavily built man with a broad smile and a dark complexion brushed off the dust off of his fur. He was at least half a head taller than Ratchet. He offerd his hand. "Jose Garcia." The sargeant offered his hand also. "Kevin Fowler." Ratchet smiled back and shook their hands. They seemed to be friendly. Ratchet twitched his ears, and said "You guys live here?" Another soldier, this one with stubble and a toothpick in his mouth aid "Nah, We come from the United States. A country, and a damn good one too. We're just in here because we got shot down during a peacekeeping mission." He pointed to the two smouldering wrecks. The seargeant asked "You have anybody else with you? In that craft?" Ratchet nodded. "Yeah, My girlfreind, Sasha, and my freind Angela." The Sargeant smiled. "You people have a lot in common with us. You might like to lead them out. Some of the bad guys around town are going to close in soon. you have armour and weapons?" Ratchet nodded. the sargeant said "Bring them out, quick." Ratchet hurried back to the ship. Cland commented "Ratchet... Aren't you falling for them a litle bit too easily?" Ratchet shook his head. "Nah, I have a feeling they're trustworthy." He burst in the shuttle, shouting "Angela, Sasha, get the stuff ready. I think we have some guys who want to help us."

The four of them walked back outside to where the soldiers were. Sasha had a small shoulder bag with research papers, Angela with a pack full of scientific gear. Ratchet had three small Vox Industries submachineguns, with plenty of ammunition and commando essentials. The seargeant looked at the armour with s small grimace. "It won't stand up to fire." Ratchet looked at him in disbeleif. "What? This can stand up to a neutron storm sniper rifle." He pulled out the SMG from his bag and emptied the entire clip into the helmet and the vest. Aside from a few scratches, the armour was in perfect shape. The Seargeant rised his rifle, and shot an accurate burst at the vest. Three bullet holes appeared and Ratchet picked up the universal vest used by commandos all around the world. "I... I can't belive it. How?" Clank leapt from his back, and pointed to the M16 the sargeant was holding. "The reason why, Ratchet, is because most Vox Industries armour models are designed to withstand energy-based attacks, not projectile weapons. Even the missiles are loaded with weapons energy, and not shrapnel or high-explosive." Ratchet sighed. The sargeant also pointed at th submachine guns. "And those, my freind," "won't hit a blind duck anyways. I could see the damn projectiles. It's subsonic, not supersonic. That means anyone can dodge those around here." Ratchet fell on his knees. "Does ANYTHING work here!" Clank replied "Apparently not." Ratchet nearly grabbed the small robot but Angela stopped him. "Calm down, Ratchet. It's not your fault." Ratchet lowerd the robot onto the ground, and sighed.

A soldier came forward, this one with orange sideburns and the last name 'Rosenburg' stenciled onto his helmet. he held an armful of gear and three assault packs. He dropped them on the ground, and went back for something else. He returned with an M4 carbine, an M16 and a MP5. The soldiers helped the three get into the new gear, and showed them where the flaslights, the grenades, the ammunition and the knife were. Angela had no problem with size issues. She was same as the soldiers in height, and she handled her M16 with ease as a Ranger showed her how to reload, empty the chamber and switch firing modes. Ratchet and Sasha were a little bit too small for the equiptment, but the sargeant tightened the straps and Ratchet once again felt comfortable in his gear; he hoisted Clank up onto his back again, and took the M4 from Rosenburg's hands. He brandished the weapon with pride, and Garcia showed him how to use the weapon properly. He also felt a smaller gun, a blaster of some sort in a holster, but Garcia said "Ignore that one for a moment. I'll show you how to use it later." Ratchet nodded, a little dissapointed. Sasha was being introduced to her new weapon by Rosenburg. Ratchet felt a small bit of jealousy creeping out of him. he was inturrupted by Fowler tapping on his shoulder. Fowler said "Well, we'll have to give you nicknames to put on your helmets." Ratchet looked at the others. Nicknames, ranging from "Baby face" to "Kill'em all" were written on the helmets. Ratchet became 'Rat', Angela became 'Angel' and Sasha kept her name. During the writing, Ratchet felt like if he was being knighted-he was now a part of the unit, a brother, given a promise that he would never be left behind. But some things would never be the same again, but he was unaware of this for the moment. Thinking light, cheery, bubbly thoughts to lighten up his mood, Ratchet grabbed the grip on his weapon, and looked up to the sky.

Vultures circled overhead.


End file.
